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erotic poetry

debajo del timón del guerrero
pienso a menudo en la ciudad hermosa
se levantó y el ámbar era la puesta del sol en el río
quizás no es ninguna materia que usted murió
era el otoño del año
ruédeme abajo por el prado
soy el viento que duda
para mirar todo el dia la onda azul encresparse y romperse
cortocircuito y dulce, y hemos venido al extremo de él
le hizo ven siempre un cocodrilo

 



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